


An honourable liar

by J_Flattermann



Category: Ghosts of Culloden Moor, LL Muir
Genre: Gen, Historic ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:48:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Flattermann/pseuds/J_Flattermann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the book series "Ghosts of Culloden Moor" by LL Miur and others starting with "The Gathering".<br/>However, not related to this series but stand alone.</p><p>Contains Scot language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An honourable liar

An Honorable Liar

A Historic Ghost Story

 

by Iris ThomsAn Honorable Liar  
A Historic Ghost Story  
Chapter 1 - Meeting with a Ghost 3  
Chapter 2 - A Lowland Lad 9  
Chapter 3 - A Visitor and a Date 17  
Chapter 4 - The Runaway 26  
Chapter 5 - Bagpipes and Swords 32  
Chapter 6 - The ‘Butcher’s Troops 36  
Chapter 7 - A promise made 41  
Chapter 8 - Farewell? 48  
Chapter 9 - A Promise Kept 52  
Chapter 10 - Epilogue 57  
  
  
Chapter 1 - Meeting with a Ghost

 

“Leave me alone.” He growled at her but she just shrugged her shoulders; she didn’t move.

“Wha’ do ye want o’ me? I hav’nae thing o’ interest te ye.”

He snapped as if he was a dog with rabies. He always turned away from her, hiding his face. “By rights ye shouldnae see me. I’m a dead one, ken?”

She giggled at that but then replied.“You seem sad. Do you want to tell me why?” The question was spoken very softly.

“No! Go AWA'!” 

Still she didn’t budge.

“What is your name anyway? And why are you stomping up and down here if you are dead? And, if you are dead, why am I seeing you and speaking to you?”

Now he shrugged but carefully kept his back turned towards her. 

Why could this lass see him? T'was nae natural.

“My name is Mary.” She introduced herself and he flinched at the name.

“I'm here for a visit.” She pointed towards a group of young girls about her age - seventeen, he reckoned - who were given instructions by an older looking person, a teacher perhaps.

“I see. But why can ye see me? Tis nae right. Ye shouldnae see me.”

She grinned but shrugged. “I've always seen things that others can’t. I’m used to it. - Now, tell me your name. I told you mine.”

“One sae young shouldnae see ‘things’ like me!” He insisted with a growl.

“Oh, yeah? Says who? As if you are SO old.” 

He knew she was teasing him. Trying to get him to speak; and by rights he was much older than her, if the present time could be counted. 

“I am.” He therefore replied stubbornly.

“Huh?” - “How old are you then? Sixteen, I think, by the looks of you. That makes you actually one year younger than me.” She showed him her tongue at that.

“I am. I'm two hundred and seventy five years old by now.” 

She giggled at that at first but then her triumphant grin vanished.  
Now he couldn’t help but grin. That showed her. And he had been right at guessing her age, he thought with pride.

“Me name is Alexander. Stewart, I mean. Alexander Stewart.”

He repeated himself speaking the name more fluently at last. 

“Hi, Alexander Stewart. I’m Mary Newman. Now tell me why're you always hiding your face away from me? I don’t mean you any harm. I’m just a bit … curious. Yes, curious, that’s all.” Quickly she added “And we need to write an essay of our visit to Culloden Moor. So I thought you might be able to help me with that and in return, I might be able to do something for you. With whatever bothers you so.”

“Culloden Moor?” He looked confused. “There’s a Culloden House.” He pointed in the direction of a Manse at the other end of the field. “But where’s Culloden Moor?”

“Well, here of course.” 

He shook his head. “Nae, lass. Ye got that all wrong. Tis Drumossie Moor, tis.”

She laughed at him. “Is that what it was called then? Drumossie Moor? I need to remember that.”

“Why, is it called differently now?”

“Sure. After the battle of course.”

“Makes nae sense. Why should they change the name.”

“I think the British did. But I’m not sure.”

He snorted in disgust. “Sassenachs.”

“Hey, but what about my essay? Are you going to help me? What do you say, Alexander Stewart? Do we have a deal?”

She held out her hand for his to shake.

Not that he thought that she might be able to help him at all, but the thought of telling his story. Speaking to someone. Someone who would listen an mayhap no judge. Twas very tempting. 

He turned halfway still hiding the damage to his face and body, studying her out of the corner of his one good eye.  
Did she really think she could shake hands with a ghost? She must be mad.

Yet, as by reflex his hand moved forward toward hers. 

She grabbed his and started pumping it up and down. He stared at his hand and then at her and back, utterly perplexed. 

How? Christ, Mary and St. Bride. How had she been able te do it?

He was still reflecting on her ability to touch him when she jumped into the air, fisting upward in celebration.

“Yeah! You’re a star, Alex Stewart, you really are.” And before he knew she held him in a hug. “I shall love you forever for that.” 

He quickly removed himself from her embrace and turned his back again.

“Soo …” She stepped closer looking expectant, “You said you're dead. Are you buried somewhere here then?” She looked around.  
“Where? Show me.”

He contemplated for a second.  
Makes nae sense te show her the place I died. No' ter see but mud. Donae think she’ll go there. Her fine shoes no' made fer treading the bog. So wha’? Ah!

He pointed at the marker stone reading ‘Clan Stewart of Appin’. 

“There.”

He knew it was not where he was lying but it came close enough as he had been with the Appin Regiment.

“Oh. So you are a Stewart of Appin then? And there was me thinking you were of the Royal Stuart line.” She giggled and hid her blush behind her hands.

“Nah.” He shook his head. “I lied.”

“What?”

Now he blushed. “Nah. No' ter ye. Ter them I lied. Gi'e them a wrong name an made meself older. So they wouldnae turn me awa, ken?”

She shook her head.

“NO, I don’t! Why were you so keen on fighting? And how old are you? And who are you, if you are not Alex Stewart?”

He sighed.

“Hark, I no' lied ter ye, lass. But, aye, I lied then ter them, I did.” He sighed again. “Ken, I were tha' desperate te join wi' Prince Charlie. My name really is Alasdair Boyte. And I am - was - …" He looked confused.

“I would have been sixteen that May if I hadnae died, ken.”

She gasped. “Fifteen! Shit! That’s fucking too young to die.”

He shrugged his shoulders. How could she understand what it was to fight for honour and freedom?

“Yer a sassenach, ye cannae ken whatis like. I think you might be one of them Aenglish too. I shouldnae talk to ye. Ye willnae ken.”

He was about to turn away but she held him by his sleeve. The cloth gave and tore.

“Oops. Sorry. But I am not English. I am AMERICAN, if you must know. And I think I DO understand. We had our war of Independence as well. Not that you know anything about that, though.”

She pushed her lower lip forward in a pout.

“Ah, lass. Ne’er mind me. Weell, I was keen ter fight, ken. Verra keen. Ran away from haeme, so keen.”

“Gosh. Running away from home at fifteen only to be killed.”

The thought made her legs weak and she needed to sit down.  
He quickly reacted to steady her and for the first time she saw him full on.

“Ouch!” She said grimacing. She made a gesture toward his face and chest. “That must have hurt.”

“Och.” He tried to turn away but she held him close. 

“No. Don’t feel ashamed. And … it’s not that bad after all. I have seen worse. The soldiers coming back from Vietnam, you see. Burnt, terrible burns.”

She looked up into his face and her hand gently touched his broken jaw. “Did it hurt?”

He shrugged. “Most damage was done after I had ….  
Weell, after I died, ken. Didnae feel much. Honest!”

“Shock, I guess.” She said and then laid her finger on his broken and shifted-sideways nose. 

“Is that a horseshoe mark on your forehead?”

He grinned and nodded.  
“The poor beastie wouldnae step on me first. The dragoon had to force it.”

He had taken her arm to lead her away from the Clan Stones towards the building of the Visitor’s Centre. There they found an empty bench and he stirred her towards it to sit.

“Here, sit yer doon fer a bit. Yer gone all shakin'. Couldnae have ye keel over.”

Sitting beside her, he threw a sideways glance at her.

She wasnae what he considered pretty. Wearing spectacles an that strange brittle on her teeth. But who was he te judge with his face all smashed up an’ his chest caved in by the hooves o’ the dragoon’s horse. 

“I reckon we should make a fresh start then.” He said, stood up and gave her a perfect bow.

“Simon Alasdair William Robert Boyte at yer service, ma’am.”

She giggled at that.

“Of the Boyte’s of Dailly in Ayrshire. Everyone calls me Alasdair though.”

“The Boyd’s …” 

“Nah. Boyte. Be. oh. yeh. te. ee. And there is just me o' that name. But me faither, he’s a Boyd o’ Penkill.”

She looked at him in confusion, her mouth open.

“Ayrshire? Penkill? That’s where?”

“To the southwest o’ Glasgae, lass.”

“But...? That’s not in the Highlands at all, is it? I thought all of the men fighting for Bonnie Prince Charlie had been Highlanders?”

“Ach, aye. Most of the men were Hielanders. But there were a few Lowlanders too, ken. An’ no' all papists too. I'm a Presbyterian meself.” 

“OH, I didn’t know that!”

He grinned crookedly with his broken jawbone sticking out oddly.  
He grew sad again.

“Yer will hate an despise me when I’m finished tellin'.”

She stared at him.

“What on EARTH made you say that?”

“Cause I hate an despise mesen fer wha’ I’ve done. I’m no' a nice person, ken.”

“Bullshit!”

“Weell, you’ll see. But dinnae say I hae no' warned ye. I just did.”

***

Chapter 2 - A Lowland Lad

“In the early wee hours of May 15th in the year of our lord 1731, one Margaret Anne Hair gave birth to a bonny lad. Her faither, the village’s miller, was no' best pleased; his daughter was no' a married woman, ken?"

"Yet, he couldnae blame her either. For nae body in the village would have dare ter say ‘Nae’ te The Boyd o’ Penkill, fer that was their laird an’ they were his tenants.

The laird had taken no chances, ken. He had fathered a child wi' Margaret but also wi' his wife, the Lady Penkill. He needed an heir, ken. He wasnae so young nae more and wi' the rumours of a Rising, he must have thought better safe than sorry. 

Weell, I was born that day and the Boyd’s legitimate son twa' days later. However, the Lady Penkill made sure that her son was baptised first and that he bore his faither’s name, Alexander.  
Also she insisted that I was no' given me faither’s name. 

So -- he cheated her. 

He was present at me baptismal. She couldnae forbid him that and she couldnae do anything aboot me being named Alasdair, which is 'Alexander' in Scotch. 

I reckon they must'a hae a pretty good fight o'er him recognising me as his bastard. After all, I was his illegitimate bairn an' he insisted that I should hae the last name Boyte in the auld spelling. An' I wasnae allowed ter change that, e’er. Or rather me mom was told that if she married, me name had te stay Boyte. 

I guess he wanted ter make sure. Just, if one lad died so the other could take on the lairdship. A cunning mon the Boyd o’ Penkill, ken?

But he wasnae takin' me with him te his castle, I had te stay in Dailly with me mom. When I was older, a local tutor was arranged fer te see te me education. Them at the castle told him wha’ ter learn me.”

 

Mary had listened to his tale but now interrupted.

“So you are Alistair … Alexander? Alistair sounds so odd. Mind you if I stick to calling you Alex?”

He grinned and shook his head.  
“Nah, lass. Ye may call me wha’ yer like. Tis fine by me.”

“Where was I? Ah. So, I was raised with the other lads in the village, only me schooling was different from theirs.”

Twas near me ten-an-fourth birthday that I saw me faither next.  
At first I dinnae ken that he had come, ken. Twas when I heard shoutin’ and screamin’ that I ran haeme. 

Mom and faither were havin a fight over a wee lass he had brought fer us ter takin' care of. Mom wouldnae do it for the wee lass was one more of his illegitimate bairns. Then I heard faither threaten her ter tek me awa so she'd ne’er see me more.  
As that dinnae help, he threatened ter outcast her - but me mom were stubbern as an ox.

I sneaked round the hoose hopin' ter see them through a winder. Tha’ twas when I saw the other mon standin' holding the horses. The wee lassie was sittin' in the dirt next ter him lookin' verra scaird.

Then faither came stormin' out of the cottage with mom right up his neck yapping. Twas when her e'en fell on the other mon, she stopped immediately; she quick brushed off her skirt as if it hadnae been her yellin'. 

Weell, the short of it. A few weeks later she was wed to the mon and the bairn was ours ter care for.

Faither ne’er claimed wee Mairie ter be his. No like he had done with me. So the lassie had a different name - Borland after her mom.”

“Why was your father bringing her to your mom then?”

‘Her own mom had died in childbirth, ken. The mon ter wed me mom was her uncle. Mairie’s mom his late wife’s sister. So the bairn hadnae his name either fer showin'. 

After the weddin' mom and her new groom left for the north. Wee Mairie an meself were givin' into care wi’ Granny Comyn.  
The mon, who said he would be me foster-father, was kin to the Boyd. He had lands in the north, he wanted me mom ter see.”

“Did your Ma ever intend to come back for you and Mairie?”

He scratched his temple next to the hoof imprint. 

“Mayhap, she might. Both took the fever on the journey north and died. So there’s no tellin'.”

Now she really stared but he just shrugged and grinned shyly.

“Granny Comyn was auld but verra kind, ken. She looked after us, wee Mairie an meself. So did all the other adults in the village. At times it felt like we had too many parents.”

She giggled. “I know that feeling.” 

“Also I knew Granny Comyn almost all me life. When I was eight years of age I started helping her wi' her chores. Payin' regular visits. She always seemed verra auld ter me. So I did the wood choppin', carryin the heavy stuff, ken, things that were hard fer her ter do. An she wa' mostly alone, her lads out on the fields workin' fer a livin'. 

That was also the time I started buildin' me strength, spurred on by the other, mainly older lads in the village. They lads were teasin' me fer me names an there were rumours of a Risin' among the men. We lads would listen, hopin' ter get our chance.”

“What did you mean when you said the older lads were teasing you about your name?”

“Weell, they dinnae meant harm, did they no'. Just that me having William an Robert. I meself believed fer a long time that that wa' fer The Wallace and The Bruce. It wasnae, of course. Mine are just names that run in the family, like Alexander and Simon, ken.”

He blushed a little and she knew that he had never before confessed to this little slip of pride and vanity.

“In Dailly there’s the old kirk. In the graveyard there are the Clachan-utaich, two sacred stones. They’re called the Blue Stones fer their colour. Both verra heavy. One stands for Truth, the other for Faith. In the auld days debtors would find sanctuary if they touched one of the stones. I would sneak in to the graveyard to mek ter lift them, until one day I could lift both at the same time at least six times.”

Mary looked at him and nodded. Despite his sunken chest, his shoulders were broad, his arms thick and hands wide. The young man at her side clearly had strength and knew hard manual labor. 

“Those stones, are they famous?” She started to dig in her handbag and came out with her mobile phone in her hands. “You think, I can find them on the internet?”

His blank look made her giggle again. “Sorry. I forgot. You won’t know.”

He looked on as she fiddled with the device.

“Carry on, I'll just try to see if I get a connection here.” 

“The lads an me would contest each other. Seein' as to how strong we were.”

“Contests like in the Highland Games, you mean?” She still fiddled with the mobile.

He stared at her with raised eyebrows.

“Wha’ are Hieland Games, lass?”

 

“I found the stones … What? Are you kidding me?"

It became clear that he had never heard of the Highland Games and she was struggling with giving him an answer. 

“Wait. I'll show you.” She said, and started to fiddle with her mobile again. 

About a minute later she was glad that she was busy with her phone as one of her teachers came around the corner of the visitor centre addressing her.

“Mary! Is everything all right?"

“Oh, yes Mrs. Myers. I was just trying to get a network connection to look something up. Ah, great! Got it!"

The teacher smiled but then cautioned her.  
“Remember, child. We all meet at the bus at half past three sharp. Don’t miss it.”

“No, I won’t, promise. Thank you, Mrs. Myers.”

Mary waited until her teacher was out of sight and then blew a sigh of relief.

“Phew, for a minute I thought she'd caught us.”

He grinned. “Would be awkward ter explain why yer talkin te yerself.”

Then she held out her phone to Alex to show him footage taken at the last year’s Highland Games.

Alistair had seen people using these little boxes, talking to them or staring at them, their fingers swiping or tipping. However, he never really had understood what those boxes were and what they could do. Therefore when he saw the video clip playing before his eyes and heard the recorded voices, he was shocked at first.

“Christ, Mary and St. Bride! They talk. How did you get them in there? How do they get out from there?”

“Hell, yes, of course it speaks - it’s a phone. Oh!”

Only after he looked several times between her and the phone, she realised. It hit her like a hammer. He didn’t know what a phone was, had never used one, possibly seen one before.

“Oh,shit! Alex, I’m so sorry. I forgot. I didn’t meant to scare you. This is a 'mobile 'phone'. A smart 'phone, actually. It does things.”

She stopped, how could she explain to him?

“Och, I’ve seen these wee boxes afore. I only dinnae ken what they do.” He said nonchalantly. 

He took her hand and moved the device closer to get a better look at the monitor.

“Just … How do you get those people in there?”

“Oh, no no. This is not live. It’s a recording, a film. Damn. How can I explain? It’s almost like a painting, see. Just that this one moves and speaks.”

She struggled and he seemed to look more confused than before.

“You must understand that the people you are seeing there - they are not really in there, Alex. Like people who are painted in a portrait are not really in the painting. Damn, it’s hard to explain.”

But then she had an idea and grinned at him. “Wait!” 

She turned the mobile towards herself and selected the video recording app. As soon as it was running she recorded a brief greeting.

“Hello Alex, I am Mary. How are you?” She spoke into the box to his astonishment. After that was done she showed him the recording.

“Tis like magic, is it no?” 

“Want to see it again?”

He nodded and she hit the replay button.  
Alex was so transfixed that Mary had to replay her message to him several times. Every time he shook his head and whispered the words ‘magic’.

“OK. Sorry. But I haven’t so much time left until my bus leaves. Are you ready to continue your story? … It’s just … I wondered, how did you end up here?”

He apologised but she waved it away.

“Shortly after me ten and fourth birthday a strange mon came to Dailly and stopped at Granny Comyn's haeme.” He carried on.

The stranger had had words with the old woman and then ordered the boy to mount the second horse he had brought with him. 

“Granny bowed low before the mon and called him ‘Laird Kilmarnock’. Then she took me to the side an told me that I had to obey the commands I was been given by ‘Himself’. So I did mount the horse and rode out of Dailly wi' him.”

At first Alistair had thought the stranger would take him to Kilmarnock or Kilmarnock Castle. However, they took the road to Penkill Castle instead.

At this point Alistair stopped his story and, pointing over her shoulder, said “I guess tis time fer ye ter leave. Look!”

She turned and swore. He was right, all her mates were crowding around the bus and were beginning to enter.

“Damn. So not fair. You are not finished. I want to know who that stranger was.”

She pouted and he grinned.

“I know. I’m sorry I got distracted by your 'Phone, lass.” He spoke the word ‘phone’ very carefully to get it right. "Will ye no be able ter come again? How long are ye stayin'?”

She shrugged.  
“I can try. It’s going to be a few more weeks until I finish my course and have to fly back home.”

“Will ye come then?”

“I will try. But it won’t be before Saturday. Saturday I possibly can make, though.”

She stood up and gathered her things. Then quickly looked around and standing on tiptoes gave him a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Before he could react she was halfway towards the bus, where she turned and smiled at him.

‘Saturday.’ She mouthed.

He stood there watching her mounting the bus, confused.

How long was it to Saturday? 

He had no meaning of time. Lost long ago in those centuries of haunting the Moor.

Unlike all the other girls who had taken a liking to the young bus driver and therefore cluttered the front rows of the bus, Mary walked all the way to the back and slouched down on the back bench.

She turned and looked out of the back window. 

There he stood, Alex, her ghost. 

She wanted to wave to get his attention but at the same time was afraid that the others would notice. She placed her hand on the window pane and saw him raising his hand in a like greeting.  
Then the bus started to move and she almost jumped out of her skin when Mrs. Myers spoke.

“Mary Newman, are you quite all right? You're acting very strangely today.”

Mary sighed.  
“This is a very emotional place, this. Am sorry Mrs. Myers, I didn’t mean to act funny. But something in this place touched me.”

Mrs. Myers sighed.  
“I know, child. Weell, as long as ye no get any nightmares.”

She patted Mary’s hand and moved back to her place on the bus.

 

***

 

Chapter 3 - A Visitor and a Date

It was time to take his place back on the Moor again, but before then Alasdair had to do one more thing.

He moved towards the Visitor Centre and circled from window to window until he could look at the wall calendar. Wednesday it said.

Wednesday; that meant he had to wait two ... no, three days until she would return. 

If she returns. His brain whispered.

Never before had been three days so long. Came Saturday he was impatiently waiting before any sign of the visitors. When they appeared he strode towards the driveway to watch the visitors pouring in. 

What am I doing? She will certainly no be comin' on a bus, will she?

The first rush of early visitors was over and she hadn’t come.He paced up and down.  
Was she comin? How much time had gone?

The loud rattling of a motorcycle was pulled him out of his musings. He hated them things. Noisy, stinkin' wee beasties they were and gladly not often visitors came on those.  
He was about to turn his back when he noticed that this noisy beastie carried his maid.  
Mary had come.

His heart almost jumped out of his chest. She had come!

Despite his hate for motorcycles he came to her and waited patiently until she had locked the machine and secured it to the bicycle stand.

“Dinnae think ye'd come.” He said in greeting.

“Well, it wasn’t so easy to get a ride out to here. Had to ask around. But, Taahdaah, here I am!”

He grinned and making sure none saw them they hugged.

“Yer have no dealin' with magic, have ye now? Tis just that I was wondering why we can touch?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not a witch if that is what you’re asking.” She was almost annoyed that he took her for one.

“Hm. Mayhap we are related?!”

She shrugged. “I don’t know if we are. I‘d have to check that. Not that I’m saying we’re not. I just don’t know.”

She had asked herself the same question, she had to admit. Why could she touch him, feel him and his touch? It was kind of strange.

He led her away to ‘their’ bench, the one they had used during their first meeting. 

“I did a bit o’ hauntin’.” He said blushing when she asked how it came that on such a busy and fine day the bench was empty, whilst the people crowded the others.

“You spooked them away, to keep our spot? Now that is …” She had almost said ‘romantic’ “… kind of you and so considerate too.” Don’t be stupid and fall for the guy. He’s dead! Said so himself. 

They took their places again, him with his unharmed side of the face towards her. 

“Wednesday. We stopped in your tale with that stranger that came to your village. What was the name again?”

“Dailly?”

“No! The name of the stranger.”

“Oh. That was The Kilmarnock. 'Himself'!” He sounded a little proud.

“Who is he? 'Himself'?”

“Kilmarnock? Och, lass, he's the Chief o’ Clan Boyd. An me uncle, if ye must know.”  
The last sentence was barely audible.

“Your Uncle?”

“Hush. No' so loud! Remember? I’m the bastard.” 

A few heads turned in their direction. Gladly she had thought of taking out her mobile phone straight away, so the people were thinking she was on a call but he grew uncomfortable as well.

“What is it? Alex?”

“We are drawin’ attention.” He said grimly.

“Oh, the people - no, they think I’m on a phone call.”

“No! Not them. Those. Me mates, comrades in arms, ken. Can ye no see?” 

He pointed out on the Moor. She strained her eyes, but all she could see there were visitors bending over marker stones and walking in the windswept heather.

They fell quiet for a while just sitting, arms touching.

“Your uncle, what did he want?” She finally broke the silence.

“Ter take me ter war. But he went ter ask me faither first.”

“So?”

“So we rode up to Penkill Castle. There I was ter wait whilst he was speakin’ wi' me faither.”

"I'd no been told toe dismount an so stayed on horseback, just holdin’ the reins o’ me uncle's horse.

The Kilmarnock walked inside the castle and after what had seemed to him like an eternity, came back fuming with anger.

“Ge’ off the horse, lad. Off wi’yer.” He was barked at.

“Why? Wha’s matter, uncle?”

“Yer no' goin’, yer hear. Yer faither is'nae havin’ it. So, off wi'yer. Back to Dailly. Shift, lad!"

He'd slid off the horse confused. 

“Did he say why, uncle?”

“Yer ter young says he. Yer no' goin' te be a soldier, nor is his lad. Yer both ter young fer goin’ ter war. An that’s the end o’ it, lad. Shift yerself noo.”

Alistair was tall for his age, coming after his father in that respect. So he pulled himself to full height.

“But I wanna go, uncle. If he wills or no'.”

“Mayhap, lad, but yer no' comin’ wi’me. Get it?”

He sighed, and continued his tale.

His uncle had mounted, grabbed the reins of the second horse and nudged his own mount into a canter before Alasdair could do anything about it. Disheartened he'd turned and walked back to the village.

The next day he'd had another visit. This time his father and another stranger arrived in the village. Alasdair had been on the common green with the other lads, training for - well, battle of course. 

His father had called him over and questioned him about The Kilmarnock’s visit and if his uncle had made another attempt to call him to arms.

Alasdair recalled his pleadings so well, word for word they were burnt into his remembrance.

“Nae, faither, he wouldnae. Himself said that Ye hadnae allowed me ter go an’ he willnae break his word. But, faither, the lads an’ I, we train so hard. If the call comes, will Ye have another look at us?”

His father had frowned and then turned to the stranger.

“Now ye see fer yerself, cousin. Tis wha’ tis. They cannae see reason. An’ how with Himself turning coat.”

His father shook his hanging head, despairing. 

“We shall loose all we've worked so hard fer o’er the last years, cousin. They will take e’rything after this foolishness has been lost.”

The stranger had patted his father’s shoulder.

“Take faith, cousin. All might no' come to such a bad endin'. I’ve made plans, as I know you have. We shall see ours safe, shall we no?”

The Penkill had shrugged his shoulders. 

“How, cousin, with Himself callin’ fer the Prince’s cause? Nae, I cannae see anythin’ good comin’ from it. But, aye, I have made plans an I certainly will try to see mine safe.”

The two men had turned and looked at the young men training with wooden swords or sticks and barrel lids for targets. Both had shaken their heads at what they took for young foolishness.

“What can we do?” Penkill asked as the two men left the village.

“Leave that te me, cousin. They need a lesson an’ a lesson they shall have.”

 

Later that day Alasdair had asked his Granny if she had knowledge of who the man was that had visited with his father.

“That, me lad, was The Crawford. He’s your faither’s cousin on the maternal side, ken?”

Alasdair nodded, he'd heard the name before and now the mere mentioning made him shudder.

The Crawford was well known as loyal to the government, that was the English. The last remark of the man, Alasdair had overheard, sprang back to mind. 

What had The Crawford meant wi' it? 

“Did you find out what he meant with it?”

“Aye, lass. We all did. An’ it wasnae pretty too.”

“What do you mean? What did he do?”

“The Crawford was loyal te the Aenglish, ken. So he went an’ arranged fer a visit te our village. So we would learn a lesson, ken. The visitors werenae so nice, were they now. Twas the Black Watch that came, a few weeks past.” “One moment - let me look them up. I’m sure I can find them on the internet. Ah! Oh?  
This is confusing. I think I have to look for the 42nd Regiment of Foot? Yes." She showed him her mobile. "There ... look.”

She read more.

“Oh, and look - they were called 'Crawford’s Highlanders' at first ... but they were Scottish!”

“Aye, they were.” Alasdair spat after speaking. “An’ yet they werenae. No' in our ee’n. They were no' Scotch. None o' ‘em. No' in their hearts, ken.”

“But it says here that they were shipped out to fight in Flanders.”

“Och, aye. But ken, there were some o' them left to control the Hielands. They were The Campbell’s lot, mainly. Not all though. One thing fer sure, they were worse than the Aenglish.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ye couldnae trust them. One day they were helpin’, the next - killin’ ye.”

She looked blank.

“Ye had ter bribe them, ken. So they wouldnae burn yer out o' yer haeme.”

He explained.

They had been out working on the fields bringing in the last of the hay, when they had spotted old Granny Cummings and wee Mairie running towards them. Both woman and lass were very upset and weeping, their aprons pressed to their faces.

The lads and he had dropped everything where they stood and rushed towards them.

“They’re burnin’ the village. Pillagin' an robbin' us too. An worse I fear.” The old woman had said.

True from the distance the lads could see the smoke, more than the usual burning of household fires would make.

When they reached the village all was over. There were houses still burning. The thatched roofs aflame with villagers already starting to spill buckets of water on. A few barns weren’t to save and so they were left to burn themselves out. 

The few Catholics in the community had suffered worst. Two men had been hanged and the women in the family mistreated.

“There was a priest livin’ near the old kirk. He had but a daughter, his wife died when the lass had been born. The mon was auld. The lass ran the haeme. I had taken a likin' towards the lass. Weell, she was aulder than I. I donnae think she e’er looked my way.”

Alasdair, worried about the priest and his daughter, had dashed to their house. 

“The rafters were all aflame. The auld mon was hangin’ in the doorway from the beam. I looked fer Mistress Elisabeth. Couldnae find her. No' on the grounds or near the barn. So I thought she’s still in the hidyhole inside. The roof looked as if twas comin’ doon soon. I ducked past the mon an’ - Oh God!"

He buried his face in his hands.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “What? Alex, what did you find?”

“They had misused her. She couldnae stand the shame. I found her hangin' from the roof beam.”

He had tried to cut her down but the thatched roof came tumbling down and he had to run or be burned alive.

In most of the cottages the roofs were gone but the stonewalled houses still stood so the damage was soon fixed. New barns had to be built but most of their harvest and animals had been taken by the men of the Watch.

“Twas when I'd had it. I packed wha’ little I owned an that night I ran awa'.”

She saw how upset he was after telling this part of his story, so she decided not to press on. That late in the year the light was fading fast and soon the Centre would close. 

“Let’s go for a walk, shall we? I know you didn’t show me where you actually fell last time. Would you show it to me now?”

He nodded, helped her up from the bench and hooked her arm into his.

“Tis quite a bit ter walk though. I hope ye thought of sensible shoon this time.”

She lifted her feet showing him the rubber boots she was wearing.

“Aye, they’ll do.” He grinned.

They walked for a long time, quietly. Every so often he would point out, explaining. 

This was the stand of the MacGregors, there the Farquarts. Over there the Aenglish cannons had been placed.

They weren’t far from the Well of the Souls. They had walked almost halfway between the Centre and the Scottish stands when he stopped.

“Here.” He said simply.

She looked around; there was nothing to mark the place, the well known well was at their backs. Next to the path there was just bog. A large puddle was the only difference to the places left and right.

“Here? You mean, here in that …” 

He nodded.

She stared down at the water-filled hole and shuddered.

In her mind she saw him lying there, staring out of the peat-black water, his eyes open like his mouth. She gagged and then felt faint, weak, unable to speak. What was there to say?

“Miss? Are ye quite all right?” 

It wasn’t Alex’s voice.

She turned.

A young man stood there his hand outstretched to steady her, touching her arm.

“Ye look like yer seen a ghost. Come awa' now.”

She took a closer look. He wore one of those embroidered polo-shirts that signified him as a member of staff of the Visitor Centre.

“I saw ye walking out here all alone and then, gosh, ye no' faintin’ are ye now?”

He held her closer.

“We’re aboot ter close, lassie. Ye cannae stay.”

She allowed him to lead her along the wooden path back to the centre and its carpark.

“How did ye come here?”

She still was unable to speak from shock. As he had started to turn her back, she had glanced back over her shoulder. Alex had stood there and smiled.  
He had nodded and waved her to follow him away.

It took her a moment to realise that the young man had asked her a question. “What? I beg your pardon? What did you just say?”

“How did ye come here, lassie? Where’s yer car?”

“I didn’t come by car.” She pointed at the motorcycle.

“Och nae, lass. I cannae let ye drive awa' with that. Yer almost had fainted.”

She stood dumbfounded. He gathered her things and led her to a van that had ‘Visit Culloden’ painted on. He helped her into the passenger seat and then went back to the motorcycle, and with a few grunts the bike was lifted up into the back of the van.

“So. Where to, then?” He said with a smile.

 

***

Chapter 4 - The Runaway

This time it took an entire week for Alasdair to wait. Unsure if his lass would come again. She had left with the other lad and not promised to come back.

Alistair walked up and down the path between carpark and visitor centre like a caged tiger. It was Saturday again, but would she come?

The first thing he saw every day was the van of the Centre. The lad who had taken his lassie was always behind the driver’s wheel. As usual it drove up directly to the Centre, but this time the lad had a passenger.

Alistair stood transfixed as he watched Mary hopping out of the van.

“I cannae spent all day with ye. I have ter work, ken. But if ye’re all right wi’it, ye can finish yer research an we go fer a bite afters.” The lad said. 

Alistair balled his hands. Fists firmly clutched to the side of his kilt. He had no right, he kent it weell. But wha’ right had that braw lad?

To make matters worse, Mary, his Mary, gave the lad a kiss! Twas too much.

He turned to go to his usual place by the marker stones, when something plucked at his sleeve.

“Alex? Where are you going? You haven’t finished your story yet.”

Ashamed he looked down at his boot tips. “Och, lass. I thought ye no longer interested. Now that yer have an amour of yer own.”

“Alex Boyte, are you jealous?”

He blushed. “A wee bit, I reckon.”

“But … you’re a ghost.”

“Aye. I ken that weell. I …” He shook his head. “Och. Forget it, lass. Tis me bein’ daft, tis all.”

“Had you ever a girl for a friend, I mean?”

“Nah.” He blushed more.

“Oh, Alex. I’m sorry. If you weren’t a ghost, I surely would be madly in love with you.”

“Do no' tease me, lass. Tis unkind, tis.”

“But I mean it. Every word.”

She linked her hand with Alex’s and together the walked over to their familiar bench.

“I wasnae sure ye'd come.” He started. “Ye dinnae say, last time.”

“There was no time, last time. Gosh, that horrid place. I almost swooned. I saw you lying there under that murky water. But you didn’t drown. Did you?”

She looked hopefully at him, waiting for him to confirm.

“Och, lass, nae. I was shot and bludgeoned by a horse. That’s all. No drowning. The water filled up later, ken. After the horse had done all the trampling, there in the bog. If ye look sharp ye still see some of the prints of the beasts hoofs.”

“You were shot?”

“Aye. Right in me waeme.”

“In where?”

“Me waeme. Christ, woman, do ye no' speak Aenglish o’er in yon Americas?”

She giggle at his outburst but then challenged him.

“I beg your pardon. We do speak English. But not that strange one you're using here. Half of the words you use sound just like gibberish to me.”

“Och. That would be because I speak Scotch most of the time, ken?”

He grinned. “Me waeme. That’s this.” He held his hands on his belly.

“But let us no' jump ahead, shall we? So, where was I? Yah, the night I ran awa' after the Watch had been.”

 

He knew that he couldn’t turn to his uncle for the Chief of Clan Boyd had given his word not to take him and therefore would send him back. There had been talk of how the Prince had won each battle so far against the Aenglish and how he and his brave Highlanders had marched all the way down to Derby. Now there were more rumours.  
Whispered words that the Highlander army of the Bonnie Prince had returned. This was his chance. 

“They last had been seen near Falkirk. An Falkirk, that wasnae so far awa'. I could go there an’ join up.”

“Wouldn’t your uncle be there too? He certainly would recognise you.”

“Aye. I kent that weell enough. So I got meself a pair o' trews.”

“Trews?”

“Trousers. Ter change fer me plaid.”

“Oh.”

 

It had taken him longer than he had thought, as when he arrived in Falkirk half of the Prince’s army had marched out again, but then this was lucky, as only the Stewart’s troops, Lord Murray’s Athollmen and the Stewart of Appin’s, were left forming the army’s rearguard.

Challenged at the entry of the camp he announced that he had come to sign up and that he wanted to speak to the commander. He was brought before Lord Murray and Colonel Charles Stewart of Ardsheal.

“Wha’ do ye want, lad?” Murray had grunted. “Go haeme, yer too young.”

Alasdair had lifted his chin. “I am sixteen, almost seventeen, Sir.”

“So, are ye then?” Ardsheal tried to hide his grin.

“Aye. An’ ready ter fight fer me rightful king, I am too.” 

Both men had chuckled at this. “Have ye brought weapons then, lad?”

This had Alasdair aback. He had thought that when joining up he would be provided with weapons. All he had upon him was his dirk and his sgian-dubh. 

“Ah!” He stuttered.

“Och, I thought so. Go haeme, lad.” Murray said, in a warmer tone. “We have nae weapons ter spare. If ye havnae brought yer own, then … Go haeme.”

Alasdair was so disappointed. Still, he had come so far, he'd not give up so lightly.

“I can look fer te horsies. I can cook, too. Isnae there a place ye can put me to? I can work. Work hard, too.”

Ardsheal scratched his bearded chin. “Lad, can ye blow the pipes?” He asked.

This was Alasdair’s lifeline. 

“Aye. I can, can I no'?”

“Weell, we’ll see on the morrow.” Ardsheal said and gave him orders to get himself a bannock and a place to sleep by one of the fires.

 

“Can you blow the bagpipes?” Mary was curious about that.

“Weell, I couldnae then. But I thought, it cannae be so hard, can it? Blowing up a bag an squeezing. How hard can that be?”

She chuckled at that.

“But did you know how to play a tune?”

“Och, lass, that’s a different story, as ye will see.”

The truth was that Alasdair hadn’t held a bagpipe in his hands before but he was willing to learn, so he did as told and found himself a place at a fire.

“Where d'ye come from, sweet lad?” The men at the fire asked him. “Have ye fought afore?”

When he shook his head they began to tease. “What ye gonna do? Scare Tommy Lobster with yer sweet face?”

“I’m te play the pipes.” He said pushing his chest out.

“OCH, aye, if ye pipe queer enough, Tommy Lobster will run surely.” An Irish voice from the next fire said.

“If ye're one o' the pipers, lad, then ye should sit wi’em. O’er there.” The men pointed with his pipe at a fireplace further away.

Alasdair got up and moved to the fire as pointed out to him.

“E’ning. Sit yerself down.” A young man offered. “Where ye from? Where’s yer pipes?”

Alasdair blushed. He had no bagpipe to show. “I’m from Ayreshire. I hae no pipes.”

“But ye’re a piper, are ye noo?”

“I’ve ter prove meself comes morn.” He said subdued.

“An ye have nae pipes? Twill be a rare thing ter see.”

“Who said ye have ter prove?”

“Lord Ardsheal did.”  
 “Oye, that means trouble, lad. Ye have ter beat our Huey, then.” They all shook their heads and laughed.

“Wha’ yer mean? Beat yer Huey?”

“Hugh MacColl, lad. He’s our best. As famous as the MacCrimmons, he is. Is he no', lads?”

Alasdair had sat quiet after that. His hopes were at rockbottom. How could he win? He hadn’t even an instrument to show.

That night he barely slept at all and when morning came he was as drawn as after a night of brawling, gaming and drinking with the lads in the village. 

A boot kicked at his feet. “Rise an shine, sweet lad.” A voice said.

Alasdair woke up and looked into a face of a young man with ruddy hair, smiling down at him.

“I heerd ye are going ter stand against Huey the Piper, lad. Get yerseln up then. Come now. We need ter get yer yer pipes.”

Alasdair stumbled to his feet, rubbed his eyes as they walked several paces to a slightly larger tent.

“Sit yersel' doone.” 

Another man said to him. “He’s a tall one, is he no'?” 

“Aye. Hae thee something befitting then?”

“Aye, I reckon.”

The two men came out of the tent with was looked like the largest bagpipe Alasdair had ever laid eyes on.

“Best get started. Will take a wee while ter get that bag filled.” The older man said, hiding his chuckle under a cough. 

 

***

Chapter 5 - Bagpipes and Swords

Alasdair fitted the reedpipe to his mouth and blew like mad but somehow the bag wouldn’t fill. The men around him began to laugh.

“Looks like he cannae compete.” One shouted. “He cannae fill his bag.”

Meanwhile his competitor had filled his bagpipe and started the “Ruaig Ghlinne Freoine” (Chase of Glen Fruin), which was the tune of the MacGregor clan.

Alasdair cursed himself. Why had he not brought a weapon. Granny’s husband had had an old broadsword. Despite it being a wee bit rusty it would have done fine.

The Ardsheal stood suddenly behind him. “Och, I see, they’ve give you the broken pipe, lad. Ye cannae get enough air in that bag, it has a hole torn.”

Alasdair grew very angry. He wasnae givin' up so easily. Stubborn as he was he took the chanter and the blowstick from the bag. Putting the two carefully together.  
The construction looked more like a practice chanter but at least it would work.

Alasdair stood up and climbed on a barrel. Standing there he began to play the “Bratach Bhan nan Stuibhartach” (The White Banner of the Stewarts), which was for the House of Stewart. Hugh MacColl, the Stewart’s piper, cursed that he hadn’t thought of playing the Stewart tune and hurried to fall in with his pipe. 

Charles Stewart of Ardsheal chuckled. “Ye have proved yerself wi’ the pipe, lad. Let’s see what yer can do wi’ a sword.”

They were proper swords, just blunt and Alasdair was glad for it as the cuts and bruises to his fingers showed that training with a wooden sword on the commons in Dailly with his mates for sparring partners was not enough to provide skills required for proper fighting.

Still the Ardsheal smiled and patted his back after their little skirmish had ended.  
“Ye’re a brave lad. I give ye that. Ye can keep the sword, but in honesty, I need another piper. If ye’re willin’ te join up as such, I’ll have ye.”

There was no question how Alasdair would decided. He stretched out his hand and shook on the agreement with the Stewart. 

“Oh, wha's yer name, lad.”

“Me? Al … Alexander Stewart, sir.”

“Stewart, eh. Of which?”

“Stewart of Stewart, sir. The Lowland sept.”

“So. Ye have nae ghaelic then, have ye lad?”

“No, sir, I havenae.”

“Hm. We do have two Alexanders already and an Alasdair too. So you have to be content with bein' a ‘Sawney', lad. Ter keep yer all apart. Will ye remember that?”

“Aye, sir. I will. Easy.”

Two hours later Alasdair ‘Sawney’ was on the march with the regiment of the Appin Stewart on his way to Inverness.

“Did they ever check if you had spoken the truth?” Mary asked him.

He shrugged. 

“They were short on men. So I guess no. If they did, they ne’er said.”

 

They were now walking on the path again but this time he carefully led her so her eyes would not fall on the waterlogged den near the well. They moved further out to where the Jacobites had been standing in waiting for the command to attack. 

“The Stewart of Appin was at the centre end o’ the right wing. We were standing next to the Frasers of Lovat, just o’ver there.”

He stepped off the footpath into the Moor. 

“I was in the first row wi’the other pipers. Charles Stewart had given me the Ardsheal colours. They were mounted on the bass drone. That’s the longest, ken. They gave me a white cockade as well. Ter be fitted ter me bonnet. We all wore one. E’en Prince Charlie.”

“So they fitted you with some bagpipes, an old sword and a white cockade. That was all?”

“Aye. They hadnae much, ken. No money, no weapons, no food e’en.” He scratched his head. “Christ an tired we were. Marchin' on foot all the time. An the rain an sleet. God, twas so cold.”

“When they attempted the surprise attack on the English camp, were you with them?”

“Aye. O’course, lass. I had a sword, had I no'? E’ery mon wi’ a weapon was needed.”

“So you marched over this bog by night and back before daylight? And then went on to fight them in the morning. That is … good god … what madness.”

“On hind-sight yer right. Twas madness. We all knew it. Donnae think we dinnae kent. Och, we kent it weell enough.”

“Why then? Why did you go?”

“I couldnae go awa', lass. I had gi'en me word. Ter fight was the honourable thing ter do, was it no'?”

She shook her head. “I will never get it. Really, never.”

“Tis a thing of honour, lass. Yer cannae lose yer face an shame yer name like that. A word gi’en has te be honoured.”

“So you were fighting and dying for your honor?”

“Och, lass, nae. We were fightin' an’ hopin’ ter gain our freedom. Ter rid us o’ the Aenglish. Like The Bruce had done afore.”

“I do not believe that. Well, no, I do believe that you Scottish people thought so, but Prince Charlie. He wanted the throne of Scotland and England, didn’t he?”

“Aye, an’ Ireland too.”

“So, with a Stuart again on the throne in London, how would you have gotten rid of the English then?”

Alidair looked dumbfounded. “Ne’er thought o’ that, lass.” - “Christ almighty.” - “How indeed?”

She saw from his reaction that it truly never had come to his mind that even with a Scottish James or Charles as a king, this king would have ruled from London. 

“Let’s go back, Alex. It’s getting dark and I think Billy should be finished with work soon too.”

“Billy? Oh, the lad wi’ the van, right?”

“Yes. I met him here last Saturday. He’s nice. He took me home in the van; and we came together this morning.”

Alistair nodded. “I’d seen.”

“Oh, of course you have. And you were jealous, to begin with.” She chuckled.

“Och, lass, donnae tease me so. Tis been a long time since I have spoken wi’ a lass.”

“I’m sorry, Alex. I really am. Will you tell me more next Saturday? I’m sure I can convince Billy to bring me again. And you should think of something I can do for you. Remember, I said I would do something for you too.”

He nodded but shrugged. “I’ve no idea, lass. But I will think of it.I promise.”

Alasdair remained on the Moor and let her go the rest of the way by herself. When she arrived at the Visitor Centre, Billy was stepping out of the door.

“Hey, perfect timing.” He said with a smile.

 

***

Chapter 6 - The ‘Butcher’s Troops

Mary kept coming like clockwork each Saturday, most of the time in the van early morning together with Billy. Alasdair would wait for them near the entrance to the visitor centre and if the weather allowed they would sit on their favourite bench. 

In foul weather she would sit on a window table in the centre’s little cafe. For a ghost walls or windows were no obstacle. However, Alasdair normally preferred to just pop his head inside through the glass. After all he had spent almost 300 years outdoors on the moor. 

Mary had been astonished to learn that Alex was well versed with playing a fife. He had done so well actually that Charles Stewart of Ardsheal decided to keep him as a piper.  
They had provided him with a little sword training and an old rusty blade, but the weapon was not really meant for fighting as Alex had soon learnt. 

The blade had been defective and was easily broken. It had been fixed several times which made the material more volatile than before. That sword was more impressive staying sheathed. 

“Only few really had swords or targes fer show. We were a motley lot. Volunteers or drafted from the fields or stores. None o’ us a trained soldier as the Redcoats had in their army. There was a constant comin' an goin' too. Some comin' ter join, others goin’ haeme or foragin'. Food was as short as weapons. The one’s that had been on the campaign from the beginnin' were marchin' in rags. No shoon, ken an’ it was a cold year, that year. Winter dinnae seem ter wean.” 

The day before the battle there had been snowfall and the night that saw them marching toward the Aenglish camp had been bitter cold. Still the men had followed orders only to be told to turn back as the decision to make a surprise attack on the Aenglish camp had come too late and the light of the dawn saw the officers falter and finally commanding retreat.

Lacking food and sleep the Jacobites stumbled back over the moor in rain and sleet to take up their previous positions. Meanwhile a well rested Aenglish army had taken their positions across the moor. 

“That was when all went wrong. We were standing in the cold, facing Tommy Lobster. We were ready but no signal came. The Aenglish started firing. Cannon balls an grapeshot. Grapeshot was worst. The men in our ranks fell but no' one ran. Still no command ter charge came. We all wondered wha’ Charlie was waitin’ fer.” Alistair shook his head. “Te this dae I dinnae ken why he waited so long.”

“Do you think he got cold feet?”

“Twas cold that dae, weell, but he was finely dressed. I dinnae ken if he had cold feet sittin’ oop there on his horse.”

She laughed. “No, that is not what I meant. It’s a saying. When somebody has second thoughts if what he’s doing is right.”

“Och, aye. He falters, yer mean. Mayhap, the old Sir Murray o’ Atholl wasnae too happy aboot fightin' o'er the moor. He complaint, told the Prince the ground wasnae made fer the Hieland charge, ken.”

Mary nodded. “I have learnt here in the centre how different the way of fighting was between the Highlanders and the English.”

“The weather was agin us too. As soon as we hit the bog we were slowed doon. Me boots got sucked an stuck. We were like sittin' ducks, ready ter pluck. Weell, as soon as the Aenglish hit the bog they werenae better off, but there was no fire an charge. No' that we no' tried. The charge was sucked up in the muck.”

“So you were at the Right Wing center next to the Frasers?”

“Aye. We had the artillery, ken. The Frasers were mannin' the cannons. Made us main target for the Aenglish cannons too. Gosh, they fired. The Fraser just had learnt how to use them cannons, ken.”

Whilst the Frasers struggled with reloading the canons, the foot soldiers had fired their guns and in Highland fashion after the first shot threw them aside to charge with raised swords. 

“I was assigned as Piper. Christ, I dinnae kent wha’ that meant.”

“Why? What did it mean?”

“I had ter lead the men into the charge, pipin’ awa'. No weapon in hand, just me pipes.  
An with the colours attached, made me standin’ oot. Grapeshot, bullets all round me ear’n. Until one hit, through the pipes' bag an straight into me waeme.”

She shuddered. “Did it hurt?”

“No' at first. Hardly noticed. It burnt a bit. I was more confused that the pipe wouldnae work. But then the Lobster came towards me, wi’ his bayonet stuck on. I dinnae think he would come at me. But then I saw his mates sticking theirs into Scots who were lying wounded or surrendered. This sojer struggled toward me through the muck and at that point me knees gave way and I sunk ter ground. Twas soggy an cold, an the cold kept creepin’ up me chest. I couldnae feel me legs no more. I remember that I fumbled fer me dirk. Thinkin’ ‘if ye stick me, I’ll stick ye’.”

The English soldier was as young as he himself. He obviously had problems fitting his bayonet in the right way. He never saw Alasdair’s dirk. The dirk was rammed into him just under the left ribcage and upwards. The bayonet failed to strike home but only planted itself into Alasdair’s shoulder crushing the collarbone before getting stuck in the shoulder blade. The English soldier sank onto Alasdair trapping him beneath. 

At that point, Alasdair was still breathing but the fighting had ceased. He was too weak to push the English off his body and so he lay waiting, hoping that somebody would find him and carry him off the moor and to a field surgeon. Alasdair was too inexperienced to know what damage a gut shot could do and that one rarely survived such an injury. 

However, it wasn’t the Scots that came but the English collecting their casualties, who found him lying, still breathing.

A couple of foot soldiers under the command of a dragoon had been charged with gathering the fallen English. There was a carriage somewhere nearby - he had heard the squealing of the wheels.

They had lifted the soldier off his body and even though he had lain still and held his breath the boggy ground underneath him must have squelched. 

“Looks this’un is still breathing, Captain.” One of the Redcoats called out.

The dragoon came closer.

Alasdair couldn’t say what had spooked the horse. Perhaps the softness of the ground.  
The horse had reared as if to escape but the dragoon had tried to keep position. The horse’s front hooves landed on Alasdair’s chest crushing his breastbone and ribcage. That spooked the horse even more it seemed and he was sure that the air pressed out of his lungs made a sound in his throat. Then he was struck in the face and then again on the forehead.

Finally the dragoon drew his pistol and shot him in the eye. The horse spooked even more and trampled Alasdair’s lifeless body deep into the bog.

Mary shuddered again. “You couldn’t know, but the English troops had been given the command “to give no quarter”. By this all the Jacobite soldiers unable to flee the moor had been doomed. 

“History proved that the English forged a document they had intercepted from Colonel Murray. The forged document was then copied and handed out. It stated that Murray had commanded ‘no quarter’ and therefore the English were willing to return the compliment. Only later the original document was found and the forgery discovered. But that was too late of course for you guys here on the moor.”

Alasdair’s broken jaw tightened.

Mary took his hand. “I’m sorry, Alex.”

He turned halfway to look at her. “Tisnae yer fault, lass. An’ it cannae be helped noo, can it?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “It just seems so unfair.”

She swallowed. “But then … perhaps you were the lucky one.”

He stared at her. “Wha?”

“I mean, considered what happened after Culloden.”

She couldn’t tell him, so she took him by the hand and dragged him into the centre and to the part of the exhibition that dealt with the aftermath. 

“See! That’s what I meant.” She said after they had left the building again. “Even the commander of the Hessian Auxiliary troops refused to dash out against the helpless and so he withdrew his battalion. Only that didn’t stop Prince William of Hanover. They named him ‘Butcher Billy’ after that.”

He looked shaken and she had seen tears running down his face.

“Lass, ye said ye would do me a favour, remember.”

She nodded.

“I think I ken noo wha’ I want ye te do fer me.”

 

This evening she sat very quiet in the pub next to Billy hardly touching her burger and chips.

"Wha'sit, lass? Yer no spoken a word since we left the centre. Will ye no tell me?”

“If I tell you, you’ll think me crazy.”

“Nah, never. Wha'sit?”

She took a deep breath and sighed. “Do you believe in ghosts, Billy?”

“Ach, ye met one of ours, then?”

She stared at him. “What do you mean, one of yours?”

“Ach, lass. I hear that so often at the centre. People coming saying they’d seen or heard the ghosties. There are ghosties on that moor, ken.”

“Yes, I do ken. And I have met one, as you said. He told me his story.”

“Is that why ye're always walking alone out there? Looks as if yer talking to herself or on the phone. An there was me thinkin’ yer talkin’ te yer boyfriend over in America.”

“I don’t have a boy friend. I told you so.” She snapped.

“OK, OK. No boyfriend then. Who is he? The ghostie, I mean.”

“He says his name is Alasdair Boyte.”

He scratched his chin. 

“Hm, there’s something no right, lassie. Ye always walk towards the Appin Regiment stand. The Kilmarnock, the Boyds, were in third row more centre of the battlefield, ken. If he’s a Boyd, he’s lying te ye.”

She shook her head. “He said he entered the troops under a false name and age. He signed up as Alexander Stewart.” She blurted out all Alex had told her. 

“Oh. There ye have it. As I said, he’s a liar.”

That brought her almost to tears.

“Och, no lass. Do no greit. I dinna mean it.” He took her in his arms and rocked her gently. 

***

Chapter 7 - A promise made

The following weekend she arrived later and alone. Alasdair had looked out for the van but it had been a different staff member driving it. Instead she arrived on the motorbike again.

“Has Billy a day off?” He asked her after she had dismounted and secured the bike.

“I don’t know.” She said and tried to hide her quivering lip. Yet her shaky voice gave her away.

“Wha’s wrong?” Alasdair asked gently.

“We had a fight.”

“Hm. About wha’, if I may ask?”

“About you.”

“ME?”

“Yes, you.”

He looked baffled.

“I told him about you. I think he thought I was joking. He made some remarks.” Now tears formed in her eyes.

“Ay, lass. Dinnae fash yersel'. Shush. Come’ere. Shush. All’s weell.”

He led her away to their bench under the sheltering roof of the Centre.

“Sit yersel' doon. There. Now, dinnae greit. Tell me lass, wha’ has upset ye so?”

She told him that Billy had challenged his story and told her that he, Alex, had been lying all the way. She had defended her ghost and Billy had jumped up and shouted,

‘Well, then, I shall give ye proof.” He had left her alone in the pub and she hadn’t seen him since.

Alex held her in his arm against his shoulder. His chin rested on top of her head. He tried hard to fight the anger down, that was building inside him. 

“Lassie, the lad will only find that all I’ve told ye is the truth. I promised ye from the start that I wouldnae lie ter ye. An’ I havnae. Not at the start, not now, ken?” His hands stroked gently over her back and he held her close until her sobbing ebbed.

“Mary, listen. I dinnae wish ye ter come next weekend. It’s ter be The Days of All Souls and All Saints wha' ye call the noo, Hallowe’en. It always gets a bit weird here on those days, ken. Twill be too dangerous an’ I cannae stand fer ye gettin’ hurt. So, promise, ye will no come next weekend.”

“What do you mean weird? I can take well care of myself.”

“O' course ye can, lass. But on those auld feast days, there are weird folk aboot. Folk gettin’ a wee bit crazy, ken? Tis no' like I think ye cannae look out fer yerself.”

“Do you think Billy might try something to spook me?”

“I wouldnae ken, lass. I just say, stay awa', at haeme or where ye lodge.”

“Yer no lodgin’ all alone,are ye now?”

She shook her head.

“Good.”

He gave her another squeeze and then let go.

“Last Saturday, I told ye I would like te come back on yer promise. I think I ken wha’ I want ye ter do fer me.”

She looked alert but not scared. “What is it? Say!”

He drew a deep breath, which did nothing for his deformed chest.

“When ye showed me wha’ came after the battle, I was worrit. Fer Granny Comyn and our wee lassie Mairie. Ye have all this clever boxes that ken stuff. I thought, mayhap ye can find oot wha’s happened te them.”

“O-o-k-a-y, but what if it’s bad news?”

“Och, ne’er mind. As long as I ken wha's happened.”

“I shall see if I can find something on them. Do you know how Granny Cumming was called. I mean her full name. It will make it easier. Same goes for your Mairie.”

He nodded.

“Granny was called Georgina Comyn, the way we spelled it - but the Aenglish call't it Cumming. I dinnae ken her maiden name though.”

“That’s fine. I think that will do. What about Mairie?”

Before he answered he moved his chin towards her. "Billy has come.” He said simply and she jumped.

Both were facing the young man now. 

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Billy said without preamble.

She nodded.

“Can he hear me?”

She looked up into Alex’s face and Alasdair smiled and nodded.

“I can hear ye fine, lad.” He said.

There was no sign in Billy’s face that he had heard Alex speaking and so Mary repeated.

“He said ‘I can hear ye fine, lad.’” trying to copy Alex’s brawl.

Both lads chuckled at that.

“Don’t do that - 'tis terrible.” Billy said and Alasdair grinned.

“Donnae fash, lass. Yer a sassenach. Just speak as ye used te.”

“You can’t see or hear him?” She confronted Billy.

“Nah. Perhaps because I ne’er believed in the ghosties.” He made a hand move towards the moor.

“I always thought that’s down te some attention seeking lasses.”

“Well, Alex can hear you and see you of course.”

“Mayhap if …” Alasdair grinned and moved forward.

He stepped next to Billy and reached out.

Billy shivered. Then the hairs on his neck began to rise.

“He’s standing next to me, isn’t he?”

Mary nodded.

Billy pointed to his left, his finger before his own chest. “There, right?”

Again a confirming nod was her response.

Mary took two steps and reached out for Billy’s hand and the young man shrieked.

“Christ!”

“What? It was me taking your hand.” Mary replied astonished.

“Nah. It isn’t that. I can see him now!”

“WHAT?” Alasdair and Mary spoke simultaneously. 

“I can see him. Christ, what happened to his face?”

Mary let go of Billy’s hand.

“Now he’s gone.” Billy said before she could explain what had happened to Alex’s face.

She grabbed Billy’s hand again. “Yeah. He’s back. Clear as in real life.”

“Can ye hear me as weell?” Alasdair asked and Billy nodded.

“How strange.” Mary said.

The three moved back to the bench and sat down with Mary in their midst.

“Could you keep holding me hand, Mary? I have to tell him something. But first I have te apologise te ye. For what I said yesterday.”

Mary shook her head. “No need. All forgiven.” She said with a smile.

“Yer quick an’ easy ter forgive, lass.” Alasdair retorted.

“He wasn’t speaking bad about me. So there is nothing to forgive. It’s you he should apologise to.”

“I come to that.” Billy said.

“When Mary told me about ye yesterday I said ye were a liar. That got her upset. An’ I dinna mean te upset ye, Mary.”

She nodded.

“Ye got me scairt. The names ye gave. They sounded familiar. So when I got home, I checked.”

Alistair and Mary looked at him expectantly.

“It looks like we’re related, mate.” Billy said addressing Alex.

“Wha? Nae ... cannae be.” Alasdair blushed. “I ne’er been wi' a lass. Ye believe me Mary, do ye?”

“Nah. Of course not yerself. Daft bugger. Nah, through yer father.”

“Me faither? Weell, he had enough bastards, I guess. Or do ye mean his own lad?”

Alasdair’s eyes had gone wide.

“Ach, nah. That would have made me a Boyd with a 'Y'. Nah, our spelling is B.O. I. D..”

Alasdair looked confused. “Make yourself clear, Billy. Yer confusing us.”

“When I checked the ancestry tree my dad had made fer me 18th birthday, I noticed that he hadn’t put just the direct line down but also the other relations. Ye know - like aunts, uncles and such. Yer name was there. Simon Alexander, right?”

Alex nodded. “Aye.” He stood up and bowed. “Simon Alasdair William Robert Boyte, at yer service.”

Billy got up too. “Wiliam Robert Thomas Boid, at yours.”

Mary started to laugh. When the two men had settled again, Billy continued...

“Ye’re a cousin. It’s a wee bit complicated. Did ye know a woman called Mairie MacCosh?”

Alex denied.

“Damn, what was her maiden name again? Borland, yeah, Mairie Borland. Her aunt was married to a Duncan Tannock.”

Alasdair’s eyes grew wide.“That’s me Mairie. The wee lass. But I thought she’d deid?”

Mary and Billy stared.

“What made ye think that, mate?”

“I always have those nightmares, ken. The lassie, god, she wa' just a wee bairn. She used te follow me around. When I ran that night I told ye aboot, Mary. I thought I had noticed someone followin’ me. At least te the boundry o’ the village. An’ first I dinnae turn. But after I had gone a bit an wa' up te hill, I did. Twas her, ken. Standing there by the road, in her shift an barefoot.”

He buried his face in his hands and his two listeners waited until he had collected himself enough to carry on.

“Seein’ her standin’ there, I dinnae know fer how long she wa' there, I thought she must a' caught a chill. An’ her bein’ so wee an fragile. E’vry night I see her dyin’. Coughin' out her wee lungs. Spitt’n blood.”

“Nah, mate, she dinna die. But there was a wee lass, Mairie’s first born. But that was a different story. That was because of after Culloden.”

“Tell me, Billy. Ken, twas that I wanted te beg o’ Mary ter find out fer me. What became of Granny and Mairie.”

Billy told him all he knew.

Mairie had been left behind in Dailly when the Laird of Penkill packed up his family and fled to Ireland. Crawford and his Black Watch returned to the village, burnt and pillaged.  
However, Crawford knew that Mairie was the daughter of Alexander Boyd, Laird of Penkill and so he arranged a marriage with one of his men.

Colin MacCosh and Mairie were married and they soon had a girl child. However, due to the famine that followed the bloody suppression of the Rising, the little girl died after just five weeks.

“They buried her next to yer Granny Cumming in the old graveyard. I think they were the last two te be buried there. Granny Cumming died a natural death, Alasdair. Her heart gave way. She was 95 years old then.”

“Good god, that is a fine old age.” Mary exclaimed.

“What happened wi’ Mairie afters?” Alistair requested to know.

“MacCosh and she moved away from Dailly into the new village of the same name. Only a few people remained in what is now known as Old Dailly. Mairie and Colin had more children and the youngest daughter, who is my ancestor. She married a Boid. I believe that MacCosh treated Mairie well.”

“Do ye know how long Mairie lived fer?” Alasdair inquired further.

“I have forgotten, but I can check on my computer at home.” Billy opted. “Why don’t you guys just come with me?”

“Can Alasdair leave the Moor?” Mary wondered.

“Well, he’s a ghost. Can’t a ghost go to where he wants?”

***

Chapter 8 - Farewell?

This question had never occurred Alasdair and so he never had tried.

Was it possible for him ter leave the battle field that had become his last resting place?  
He had never contested if he was bound to Drummossie Moor. He had just expected this to be the case as he had died here.

“Why not give it a try?” Billy suggested. “If you can leave, you could go to Old Dailly and visit Granny Cumming’s grave and that of the wee lass. And you could go to Dailly and look for Mairie’s grave as well, if ye like. Don't forget Granny's name is now spelled the English way, Cumming.”

“Hold your horses, the two of you. We are not sure if Alex can leave Culloden. Let’s try and see if he can move across the car park and on to the road. Then we see if he can leave or not.”

“If you can leave, who would you like to go and haunt, mate? Huh?” Billy joked.

“Billy Boid, you are impossible. Leave him alone. Can’t you see that he is afraid.”

Mary moved towards Alex dragging Billy with her as she refused to release his hand.

“We can do this another time, Alex. If you need to get your mind around leaving here first.”

“I’ve been on the Moor fer more than 270 years. I never thought, never dreamed I could leave.” Alex stopped too emotional and embarrassed.

“What kept you on the Moor for so long in the first place?” Billy wondered.

“Mayhap I was afeared te face me family. Me faither. He had forbidden …”

“What could he do te ye, mate? Yer dead. Ye canna get any deader.”

Mary boxed Billy in the ribs.

“Ouch. But I’m right, ain’t I?”

The three agreed that Alasdair should try to leave Culloden Moor the next day. Billy would check about Mairie’s death and where she was buried and then would return with Mary and they would test if Alasdair was bound to the moor or not.

Even after Billy and Mary left Alasdair didn’t find any rest. Making a nuisance of himself by stomping over the Moor, the other ghosts became angry with him. So he moved away towards the car park. He normally avoided this area during nightfall as this was the stand of the Aenglish and some of the Aenglish soldiers haunted that area. 

What if he simply tried te step off the moor an see how far o'er the car park he would get? So far he had only been at the edges, close to the Visitor Centre. Would he be able to cross the car park?

He turned around and saw that some of the other ghosts Scotch and Aenglish were staring at him.

Nae, twas too risky. What if the others would follow him off the moor?  
He had ter wait until they'd retired. Closer te dawn. He could pretend ter go te his own rest later when the others were gone, get up an try his luck. 

Very casually he walked back onto the moor and crossing the footpath made for the boggy den that was his resting place. He looked down in the water filled ditch that had been created by the shying horse on the day of his death. Due to the place having been turned into a memorial, the ditch had never been filled in. He looked over to the Well of Souls. Some of his comrades had found their end there and true enough one of them waved a greeting in his direction. 

He returned it. Then stretched, yawned and stepped down into the wet hole. 

How long would he have te wait? If only he wasnae so restless. 

The possibility of leaving, of returning to Dailly had him unsettled.

Ever since he had met Mary, he had begun to become impatient. Time suddenly mattered again. Waiting, for her to arrive or now for his fellow ghosts to settle, had become torture. However, after time the voices on the moor ebbed down and finally all was silent.

Carefully, he raised himself again. He quickly looked around but the moor was deserted. In the East the sky showed the first hints of colour of a rising sun. 

He stepped onto the foot path. This would take him longer to reach the car park, but he had less chances to step on one of the others. Gladly ghosts didn’t make much noise on the wooden planks or the gravel on the Centre’s car park. 

The night guards were watching tv, he could see the flicker of the light in the window.  
The wind had picked up too. That wasn’t a bad thing. If his presence would stir a leaf on the ground or the twigs on a bush, it could easily be taken for the wind.

As he passed the Visitor Centre he lengthened his pace. The car park was empty. The guards parked their vehicles near the Centre, just like the staff in the morning. 

He walked as far as he had been in the past when waiting for Mary. There he stopped.  
If he was still alive his heart certainly would be pounding and he'd break into a sweat. Just as he had done on the day of the battle when the command finally had been given by Murray. 

Tis strange that this springs te mind noo. The Bonnie Prince ne’er had gi’n the signal. Twas Murray an the Fraser next. Then the Stewart an finally they all had been chargin’ forward.

Wha’ would have happened if no command at all had been gi'n that day? The Prince hadnae moved. If Murray hadnae commanded? 

He shook his head. Twas nonsense. The Aenglish had fired their guns an cannons. The soldiers in the front line were hit an died. Nae, twas good that Murray commanded the charge. We wa' sittin’ ducks.

Alasdair took a deep breath.

“All right, Sawney. Get a grip. Left foot march. Left. Left. Left.” He murmured to himself and began to cross the car park.

 

The two night guards were driving out of the staff car park when the Centre’s van came towards them. Billy was behind the steering wheel and waved them a short greeting.

“Wasna that Billy? I thought he doesna do Sundays.” The guard on the passenger seat remarked as they passed the van.

His mate at the wheel shrugged. “Perhaps someone took sick an’ he steps in.”

“Ah, yeah. Possible.”

The guards' car stopped briefly at the exit and then swung out into the lane and vanished soon after on the winding road.

Mary, who had ducked down as the guards passed them by so she wouldn’t be seen, now hopped out of the van. Billy followed soon and walking around the parked van met with her.

“Is he about? Do you see him?” He asked her.

“No. I can’t see him at all.” She reached out and grabbed Billy’s hand.

“Perhaps he waits at the bench.” She said but didn’t believed her own words.

Still they walked up to the Centre then around until they came to the bench. No Alasdair.

“Strange. He normally waits for me near the car park and when I come with you he walks back and meets me at the van.”

Billy sensed her worries. “Do you want to walk out on the moor? We could check where he rests? Perhaps he just overslept.” He tried to joke but she gave him a sour look. 

“That’s so not like him.” She pouted.

They waited until the usual Sunday staff arrived. Still no Alasdair.

“I think, he tried te leave, found he could an’, weell, he might be in Dailly now.” Billy said and gave Mary a hug.

“Come, lass. He’s not coming.”

***

Chapter 9 - A Promise Kept

 

Two weeks went by without a sign of Alasdair. Billy even went so far as to walk over the moor calling his name.

Luckily it was so late in the year that there weren’t many visitors around. However, some of his colleagues at the Centre gave him raised eyebrows.

Mary made short visits on the weekends but never stayed long. 

“I don’t understand why he left without a word. It’s so not him.” She complained over the usual burger and chips to Billy. “Perhaps he meant to come back and can’t. Billy, I’m worried.”

“Mary, he’s a ghost. There is nothing that can do him harm. He’s dead already.”

Still, even Billy wondered where the young Scottish warrior had gone to.

“Do you think that when he left the moor, it was him walking into the light? You know what I mean. Like they thought he was ready to let go?”

Billy shrugged.“Honestly, Mary, I donnae know. The only one who kens is Alasdair himself.”

She sighed and took a sip of her drink.

“What you think? We could drive over to Dailly and see if he’s there?” Billy offered.

“Well, officially I’m finished with my course work here. It’s just waiting for the diplomas to be handed out. I could ask Mrs. Myers when they are expected to be presented.”

 

 

A few days later arrangements were made. Billy borrowed the car from his brother and picked up Mary at her hostel. 

Mary had packed some sandwiches and soda cans. They would be on the road for about four hours, crossing from east to west.

“I hope you donna have too much expectations of Alasdair’s Old Dailly. There’s no' much there. A few cottages and the old kirk. That’s all. I checked it out on the internet yesterday.” Billy said as he stirred the car towards the A9 which would take them past Perth and Stirling to Glasgow. 

“On the way back, we can stop in Stirling, if ye like.” He offered. “Fer our visit in Dailly, I’ve booked a B&B in Penkill.”

“Why not in Dailly? I guess there are none in Old Dailly, if it is as you say.”

“Weell, Penkill is closer to Old Dailly and it is where Alasdair’s father had his seat. Penkhill Castle.”

Her eyes grew wide and she hid her blush by turning her head to look out of the window. 

On the road Billy pointed out some locations or sites of interest as they flew by and she admired the astonishing countryside as they passed through the Cairngorm National Park at the beginning of their journey. However, her mind was mainly occupied with the prospect if he had booked just one room or two and if they would find Alasdair.

“Tis keeping a promise, this. You will be able to check on his Granny Cumming. In person, I mean.”

She had been too deep in her own line of thought and so his remark took her unawares.

“What? - Oh, yes, it is a promise kept.”

By noon they arrived in Old Dailly and she was wondering how Billy had found the place without asking or turning the wrong way.

“Och, that’s nothing. My gran lived in Girvan. I was here often for visits. I told ye that I‘m a Glaswegian, did I not?”

She had forgotten over her worries about Alasdair.

“I’m working at Culloden at the moment because I have signed up at Inverness University for this semester. The course I wanted was nowhere else on offer.”

“Computer graphics. Right?”

“Computer Aided Drafting and Design, actually. But it’s more or less the same.” He confirmed.

“What can you do with that degree?”

“Designing Computer Games. It pays well and I can do it from home, possibly.”

“There, Mary, look. That’s the old church Alasdair had spoken off. I'll park the car.”

They spent some time on the graveyard, trying to read the inscriptions on the stones. It was clear that the church and the cemetery had been out of use for a long time.  
Apart from walks up the surrounding hills there was not much to do, just as Billy had predicted. Yet Mary wanted to check if she could sense or see Alasdair anywhere nearby.

“No. He’s not here. Definitely.” She sighed in the end, feeling very disappointed.

“Let’s move on to Penkill. Perhaps he’s at his father’s castle. I took it he was never allowed te be there whilst he was alive. So he might pay a visit now. Especially as they can’t shoo him away. As a ghost he can go inside as he pleases.”

Mary nodded.“Perhaps we can stop at the B&B first. I could do with a little rest.” She looked pale and tired.

“Ye not used te so much walking around an’ up an’ down hills too.”

They got back into the car and carried on the short stretch between Old Dailly and Penkill. The B&B was in a lovely little cottage. Mary admired the pretty flowerbeds that surrounded the entrance. Billy had reserved two rooms. Mary wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. 

She slept well and woke refreshed. Meeting with Billy at breakfast they made plans for the day. The couple that ran the B&B informed them that the castle was not open to the public and therefore their hopes to have a look inside were quelled. 

“Nevertheless, we can have a look at the outside, can we?”

The woman shook her head. “I’m afraid that isna possible. Ye canna see the castle from the road and the grounds are all private, ken.”

Mary and Billy sighed. Well, that was the end of this plan. 

Again maps were consulted and finally they decided to pay a visit to Dean Castle which had been called Kilmarnock Castle during Alasdair’s time and had been the seat of his uncle William, firstly because it lay on their way back towards Glasgow and secondly because Dean Castle could be visited.

However they didn’t stay long and in the end even skipped the stop in Stirling. Mary was too downhearted to be interested in sightseeing. She was very quiet and only when they came past the road sign that gave indication that the next junction was the exit for Falkirk, she raised her head.

“God, how far is Falkirk from Old Dailly? I can’t believe that Alex walked all this.”

“It’s about 77 miles. But ye shouldna forget they were used to walking then. Remember, the Scottish army walked all the way down te Derby from Edinboro and back.”

“I know, but still, it seems so …”

“I mean, how could they do it and in winter? I would have died.”

“Aye. We may be faster in our cars an’ such. But we’re also lazier. No longer cut out for that …” He stopped himself before the swear word left his tongue.

As they neared Culloden, Billy pulled away from the main road and drove down to the Moor.

“I thought we’d check if he’s back.” He explained.

She nodded but when they arrived refused to leave the car.

“I have a quick look around. If I canna find him, I go tomorrow an’ call him out.”

“I can’t see him. But if you want to, I’ll wait.”

Billy left her and made the his round, checking the Centre’s building, the walkways up until he reached the Well of Souls. All the time softly calling out Alasdair’s name.

When he returned, he shrugged as he sat down behind the wheel.

“I dinna - weell, he dinna - I couldna feel him. I try again tomorrow.”

He reversed the car and they left. 

“He’d promised ye te help ye with something, did he not? Weell, has he? I mean has he kept his promise?” He asked her to break the silence in the car.

“Actually he has. I have handed my essay in two weeks ago, as part of the final exam.”

“Damn. Tis just, I thought if he had still to keep his word …”

She placed her hand on his arm. “It’s OK. Never mind. But it was nice of you.” 

They stopped at the pub before Billy took her home. 

***

Chapter 10 - Epilogue

Alasdair took a deep breath.

“All right, Sawney. Get a grip. Left foot march. Left Left. Left.” He murmured to himself and began to cross the car park. He walked on until he reached the road. 

“Twas easier than thought, was it no'?” He encouraged himself. “But what the noo?”

He hesitated. Should he follow the road and further going back to Dailly? Or should he move into Culloden and see if he could find Mary or Billy. Gingerly tested if he could step into the road. 

Aye,'tworks. Now how would I get ter Dailly?.

The minute the thought formed in his head he was whisked away and before he could fathom stood near the old kirk in his hometown. 

“Christ, Mary and St. Bride.” He uttered astonished and a little scared.

“Now! Where is Granny?” He muttered and again swoosh and he stood before her grave.

Even more, Granny sat on the gravestone, knitting.

“Aboot time yer caeme haeme, lad.” She scolded.

“I dinnae ken I could leave the moor, Granny. Where’s Mairie’s wean?”

Granny pointed with her chin, her hands busy with the knitting needles.

“She’s shy. She doesnae know ye, ken. Come oot lass, he doesnae bite.”

Alasdair stared at the wee bairn. “She looks like our Mairie, does she no'?” Granny asked and he couldn’t answer but by a nod.

“We were waitin’ fer ye so long, lad. Tis time now. We’re all waitin’.”

He looked sheepishly at his feet.“Och, I dinnae ken ye were. An’ faither? Is he?”

“Dinnae fash, lad. Yer faither had his own tribulations. Nah, tis time ye come. There’s no’ ter fear.”

Alistair chewed on his lower lip. What about Mary an Billy? Wouldnae they be worried?

“Granny, I cannae come just now. There’s something I hae ter do. But when that’s done, I come. Will ye wait fer me, just a wee bit longer?”

She smiled at him.

“Aye, laddie. Ye finish yer business. I’ll be here.”

He had to swallow hard or he would have started greetin’ like a wee bairn. So he just nodded and gave her a kiss on the cheek. 

 

Mary switched her mobile phone back on after the ceremony that had provided her with her diploma. 

“Crap. Twenty calls? Billy, are you mad?”

She stepped out of the school into the street and pushed the callback button.“Billy?”

That was all that she got in.

“Mary, ye have te come. Quick. Alasdair is back. Make haste.”

“Damn, Billy, how?”

“Where are ye? Stay, I’ll fetch yer.”

She paced for fifteen minutes until Billy arrived in the van.

“How do you know he’s back?” She greeted him as she slipped onto the passenger seat.

“He answered. Gave me a fright, the bugger. Goosebumps.”  
Another ten minutes and they drove into the car park.

Mary saw Alex immediately. As usual he was standing on the moor nearest to the Visitor Centre. She hardly waited until the van stopped and jumped out to run towards Alex.

“Alex. Where have you been? We were so worried?”

“Och, lass, I’m sorry. But ye shouldnae fash so aboot me. I’m a ghost, ye ken that weell enough.”

Now Billy joined them and Mary grabbed his hand instinctively.

“Hey mate. Ye gave us a nice fright, ken.”

Alex held his hand out. “I came ter say ‘farewell’. Wouldnae go without, would I noo? I’ve seen Granny. Tis time, she said.”

“Time? Time for what?”

Billy gave Mary a tiny poke in the ribs.  
 “What? I don’t understand?”

“Mary,” Alistair said softly, “Tis time fer me te go. They waitin’ fer me.”

“Who? Who’s waiting? You can’t just …”

This time the poke was slightly harder.

“Ye have te let him go, Mary. Tis almost three hundred years, don’t ye think that’s long enough? His family wants him back, I guess.”

Alasdair smiled his strange lop-sided smile with his broken jaw.“Mary, lass. Ye knew that I am a ghost, ter begin wi’. An’ I reckon tis soon time fer ye te go haeme too, is it no?”

He pointed at the diploma she held rolled up in her hand.

She stared back at him.

“It’s not fair.” She wailed.“It's just not fair.”

Alasdair leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then he shook Billy’s hand.

“Ye look oot fer the lass, will ye? I count on ye, mon.”

“Sure.”

“Tis time. Have a braw life the both o’ ye.”

With another swoop Alasdair was gone. 

 

THE END


End file.
